


Ruthlessness

by goshawk



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Sparring, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-04
Updated: 2011-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:53:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goshawk/pseuds/goshawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all those in Atlantis, there's only one Ronon isn't sure he could beat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruthlessness

Of all those in Atlantis, there's only one Ronon isn't sure he could beat.

It's not the Marines. The Earthers' Marines are all strong and quick and reasonably smart (some very smart), and they learn quickly and well, but he knows he could take any three of them, if it came down to it. What's worse, _they_ know it, and that cripples them. They're impressed by his strength and ferocity, so Ronon trains them to work in teams, because with that kind of belief it's the only way they'll ever take down a Wraith.

Marines are strange to him. When they fight hand-to-hand they're like the Soldiers of Sateda were, the men and women on their basic terms, who drilled themselves to competence and never sought much more. But when Marines use modern weapons and fight to kill, they're like Specialists, artists of war, always seeking perfection. Talking with them sometimes, on his good days, Ronon has learned that the Earthers' "modern armies" consider hand-to-hand a thing of the past.

He wonders what it would be like, to know that your technology was the best, that it would never be ineffective against your enemies, to be so arrogant you didn't think they might catch you without them. Then he thinks of all the Wraith he's met that were, stripped of their weapons and alone in the woods, pathetic creatures, and because it's a good day he's blackly amused by the comparison. Very few Wraith are really any good at fighting, once you get past the raw strength. Ronon doesn't discount the raw strength - it is a tool, and a good one, and he uses it himself - but it's possible to circumvent it, just as the Wraith's technology can be bypassed, given luck and planning. If you're as good as Ronon, at any rate.

Sheppard has the potential to be that good, and it has little to do with strength. It's nothing simple. It's not about Sheppard's style, which is passable, or his technique, which is mediocre. He's strong and fast, with the capacity to be very strong and incredibly quick, but Ronon's seen that in countless would-be Specialists and more often than not it results in nothing more than a strong, fast fighter. Sheppard's got something rarer, something hard to teach, something in the way his eyes move when he's wary and the set of his mouth when he's threatened - or more, when his people are threatened. Ronon saw Sheppard for what he was from the first time they met, one dangerous predator to another, and it was a shock to learn the Earthers weren't a tribal people - then no surprise to find that Sheppard was considered a dangerous fuck-up before he came here.

The same thing that makes him unsuited to whatever he was doing on Earth makes Sheppard potentially the most dangerous person in Atlantis: a brutally clear sense of _mine_ and _not-mine_ , and a terrifying capacity for utter ruthlessness in the interests of what fell under _mine_. It's an inborn gift, and it's what makes it impossible for Sheppard to rise past mere _good_ and go straight through to _great_ , because Sheppard hates that part of himself and nine times out of ten, he'll flinch from the kill rather than follow through. Once, it made Ronon grind his teeth with frustration. Over time, though, he has come to value it, even to hope that Sheppard will always hesitate. He's come to realise that the things that might push Sheppard to that kind of greatness might cost him too much, in the end.

There have been other fighters, of course. Wraith, former Satedans (once-Satedan, once-worthy, never again), fellow-Runner, would-be mentor. All have challenged him, and always it has been a contest of equals or nearly. Ferocity matched, speed tested, wills locked. Strength set against strength, though Ronon rarely relies solely on his power. He knows the limits of strength.

Teyla, of course, is the mystery. She understands the limitations of strength down to the finest degree, using her body the way Beckett's fingers use his delicate medical instruments, the way McKay uses his mind, the way Elizabeth used words. Sparring with Teyla is like a dance, or a test. They push each other, ever so slightly, around the edges of what's safe, each time risking a little more, and so there's very real danger when they spar. Ronon is bigger and heavier and much, much stronger, every strike calculated to use that and trusting her, carefully, to be good enough to avoid him. His body can take far more, after all, than hers can. Teyla is cunning and blindingly quick, her flexibility and unpredictable style allowing her to take risks he can't often follow, to score kills he wouldn't have dared attempt. If one of them were to slip, there would be injury, even death. It's a glorious, deadly thing.

Teyla is a much, much better fighter than him, by a certain measure, and he admits it freely. To contest him at all from such a disadvantage of size and weight is a marker of incredible skill - to match him makes her, in a way, peerless. And the thing that makes it possible, that makes him wonder about her, is her precision. Teyla fights as her people live; using everything, wasting nothing. Every breath, every twist, every muscle contracted and glance cast has a purpose and a plan. No strike lands anywhere but the place it was aimed to hit, unless he blocks or redirects it. She does not miss. And Teyla always, _always_ goes for the kill.

Except she can't, of course, when they spar, just as he cannot use all of his strength. She kicks above the knee, to give him what Sheppard calls a "charlie-horse", and he does not squeeze her throat too quickly. She strikes to the stomach and not the central breath-point (the Marines call it a "sun-braid" for reasons neither of them can divine), and he softens the kick that would otherwise break bones. She avoids the strikes that damage, avoids perfect aim, as Ronon holds back the worst of his power and fury. They will likely never know which of them is best, by the only definition that means anything, since either outcome would be a loss for both of them.

Still. Ronon wonders, on his good days.


End file.
